Dr. Irving Wolinsky
This story is an excerpt from the book My Story 1. Get your copy today at www.jemstore.com.
I was born in Brooklyn in 1923. I was raised by immigrant parents and I was a traditional Jewish kid until I went to college. That’s when I got too smart for Judaism and dropped it all.
During World War II, I attended City College, majoring in chemistry, and together with the other chemistry, science, engineering, and medical students, I was classified 2A. This meant that we were considered essential for civilian defense at home and were not eligible for service abroad. When I moved over to the New York University School of Medicine and started studying dentistry, I was placed in the ASTP (Army Specialized Training Program). I went to school in uniform, like a soldier, but for all intents and purposes, I was in the inactive reserve. Unlike millions of other American boys who were shipped out to war, I served my country by staying home.
The war ended and, in 1947, after completing my education, I opened a dental office in Brooklyn. After struggling for three years, my practice was facing disaster. One of my patients was a Lubavitcher chasid, and I mentioned to him that I was facing overwhelming challenges. My mother was suffering from a heart condition. My wife had just given birth and was suffering from postpartum depression. And now, suddenly, although I was desperately needed at home, the US Army began sending me letters about being re-activated for service in the Korean War! And this was all in addition to my practice not generating enough income to support us.
I was considering relocating my office to Bayside, Queens, but I wasn’t sure if things would improve over there.
Hearing my troubles, the chasid suggested that the Rebbe might be able to help me sort things out. I was reluctant, but my wife and my father-in-law, himself a Stoliner chasid, were both sure that the solution to our problems lay in the spiritual approach, and they urged me to go. Eventually, I relented and made an appointment to see the Rebbe.
This was toward the end of 1950. I don’t remember exactly when, but I know that the Rebbe was not yet officially the Rebbe, although everyone already seemed to accept him as such.
After a long wait, I went into the Rebbe’s office and poured out all my troubles. First, I described my mother’s illness and my concern that she didn’t have much longer to live. He asked me some questions about her medical care, and I explained it was the best available — she had top doctors from New York University School of Medicine. He voiced optimism that they would be able to help her.
Next I told him about my wife’s postpartum depression. He understood exactly what I was talking about, and he said that when the time comes and she is ready, he would refer me to a top psychiatrist or psychologist.
And finally, I talked to him about myself — that I was struggling financially although I’d already been in practice for three years. I was afraid that I’d be poor for my entire life, like my parents had been, and this thought made me very despondent. No matter what I did, I just wasn’t getting anywhere. On top of that, I was receiving threatening letters from the War Department. They had sent me a string of advisories reminding me that they had partly financed my medical education, and now my expertise was needed in the war zone. Initially I had ignored these letters, but they kept coming and were getting more demanding. It was clear that, shortly, I would have to go into the armed services.
